


With an Aching Inside

by CallistoNicol



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Merry Christmas!, Mischief and Mistletoe 2018, Mutual Pining, a gift for hiyas, it ends well I promise!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 15:22:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17103098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallistoNicol/pseuds/CallistoNicol
Summary: Loki finally had Lady Sif, the only thing he ever wanted, but with one short announcement Odin snatched her away and gifted her to Thor.Neither of them knew being in love could hurt so much.





	With an Aching Inside

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hiyas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiyas/gifts).



> Merry Christmas to Hiyas! I hope this is everything you ever wanted. :)

For weeks now, Odin had been tossing rumours about regarding an impending announcement, and now the entire realm was gathered in Gladsheim to hear it. He thought he was so clever in his attempts to be mysterious, but the entirety of Asgard knew it was to officially announce Thor as crown prince. Loki thought it overkill to throw a realm-wide party just to announce the one thing they’d all been expecting since Thor’s conception, but Odin wasn’t in the habit of consulting with his youngest son.

Loki didn’t mind the celebration. He was happy for his brother, but even happier for himself, for while Thor stood on the dais with their parents and made a grand speech while bowing his head to Odin, Loki stood on a step next to Lady Sif.

He’d fallen for the shieldmaiden ages ago, never daring to dream she’d look twice at the second prince. His torch for her burned in the privacy of his heart, glowing quietly when others were around, but shining brightly whenever she turned a smile his way or joined him in witty banter. Watching her attain her shield and defend the Realm had brought him secret pleasure, as proud of her accomplishments as if they were his own.

When she had started looking at him as more than a companion, Loki hardly dared to believe his luck. With Thor and the Warriors Three always about, Loki never thought a warrior such as Sif would consider his magics worthy of her attentions. Then four moons ago, when they were stranded in a cave waiting for a storm to pass them by before they could rejoin their friends, in a moment of boldness Sif caught Loki’s lips with hers and claimed him as her own.

It was still new, this thing between them, not yet ready to be shared with the world. Loki relished their secret moments in crowded rooms, hiding their affection in plain sight. Loki and Sif had always spent time together, the halls used to the sight of them traipsing about together. Neither the Three nor Thor thought to look closely enough notice that now Loki and Sif walked a little closer, spoke a little softer, found excuse to touch more often.

She was close enough now that Loki could feel the outline of her hand on the other side of his emerald green cape. In a moment of daring, he clasped his fingers around hers, the soft barrier of green preventing him from feeling her touch. He trusted the voluminous folds to hide his actions, and indeed, none seemed to notice. He did not try to hide his smile, knowing all would attribute it to the joy of Thor’s coronation.

The Allfather called for silence, and in moments a pin drop could be heard in Gladsheim. Thor knelt at Odin’s feet as the Allfather began his speech. “Thor, Odinson, my heir, my firstborn, so long entrusted with the mighty hammer Mjolnir, forged in the heart of a dying star…” He droned on, spouting kingly wisdom about building the realm and maintaining responsibility, but Loki did not listen, instead reveling in holding Sif’s hand where any could see, but knowing they wouldn’t look as every eye was focused on the Allfather and Thor.

At last Odin’s lengthy speech came to a close. “On this day, I, Odin Allfather, proclaim you, Thor Odinson, crown prince and heir to all of Asgard!” The thunderous applause and cheering filled Gladsheim. Loki stood at attention, for to engage in celebration was to lose Sif’s hand, which he was not yet willing to do. At last, the noise lessened and petered out, and Odin spoke again. “But what is a king without a queen?” he said, looking fondly at Frigga. “Every king needs a strong queen at his side, to counsel him, to support him, to be a strength when the day is long and the night seems endless. For this purpose, today we announce the engagement of Thor to a fine woman, a mighty warrior, who will serve the realm well as queen.”

This was unexpected and unusual. The murmurs of the gathered crowd indicated they shared Loki’s surprise. From Thor’s expression, Loki gathered his brother knew of this announcement, but the tautness of his shoulders said he did not know who their father had chosen for him. A mighty warrior? A fine woman? Undoubtedly someone to whom Thor had shown favor at some point, but there were so many to choose from.

Odin waited for silence. Once every voice was hushed and all eyes again trained on the dais, Odin calmly announced, “On this day we declare that the Lady Sif is to be Thor’s intended.”

Loki dropped Sif’s hand like a live coal, feeling hot and cold all over. Odin looked immensely pleased with himself as the people cheered, and Thor’s tension was gone, a wide grin splitting his face. Clenching his teeth, Loki refused to look at Sif as she ascended the stairs toward Odin’s outstretched hand. Had she known? Had Loki been naught but one last fling before she became queen?

Holding himself perfectly erect, Loki did not let one emotion show in expression or body language as Odin made another grand speech about the importance of partnership in marriage. Loki didn’t listen, focusing instead of keeping his breaths even and his vision clear. He would not do anything to draw attention his way. He refused to be the realm’s laughing stock.

The moment the ceremony ended and Odin declared it time for feasting, Loki slipped into a darkened hallway, traveling to his room with a twist of a shadow. He could not be witness to his Sif feasting beside Thor. He would not.

Their new romance was over in the blink of an eye. Everything she’d been to him now felt meaningless in the face of his love becoming the love of Thor. Bitterness clawed its way into Loki’s heart, and he gave into the feeling, resenting his brother for once again being handed everything. This bitter loss was too great to bear. Grabbing an ancient tome off a table, Loki threw himself into an armchair. He was going to drown his sorrows in magic arcana until he fell asleep from exhaustion or his mother showed up to drag him to the feast.

_Oh, Sif_ , his soul cried out in anguish. Shoving it aside, Loki opened to his bookmark and read.

 

*

 

Sif couldn’t look over her shoulder, but she knew the instant Loki left, feeling his loss keenly. Something must be said to him, but she did not know what. Odin’s proclamation had come as a surprise; Sif never would have thought herself worthy to be queen, given her propensity for the warrior arts. A good queen knew magic. A good queen stayed back from war. A good queen was stately and regal. A good queen was someone like Frigga, and Sif was anything but.

She also thought a good queen was supposed to love the king, and while she did love Thor, it was with the ferocity of a beloved sibling. She loved to joke with him, spar with him, go to war with him, but she could not imagine kissing him, bedding him, nor bearing his babes. But that was the life she was consigned to, now; as a shieldmaiden of Asgard, she had sworn to uphold the throne and obey every order with exactness. When Odin called, she answered, whether it was to slay an enemy, escort a visiting dignitary, or marry his firstborn. Her feelings mattered little.

She blinked back a burning in her eyes, hoping all would misinterpret it as tears of joy.

Slinging an arm about her shoulders, Thor grinned at her as he said, “Betrothed! Dear Sif, I could not have picked a better woman to stand by my side.”

Grateful her voice was steady, she asked, “Because you have loved me in secret these many years?”

“Because you’ll get piss-drunk with me and laugh at all my horrible jokes. Imagine the beasts we can slay in the name of the kingdom! We’re guaranteed an eternal friendship now, Sif.”

She was surprised at the relief she felt. Shouldn’t she want her husband to love her? Shouldn’t she be displeased that he only thought of friendship and camaraderie, when marriage was their fate? But she could not lie to herself. If Thor cared only for her friendship, she wouldn’t have to lie to him about where her heart was, and for that, she was grateful.

Hogun, Volstagg, and Fandral came to her, slapping her on the back. “You’ve risen higher than all of us!” Fandral said cheerfully. “Must we now bow to you and call you my princess?” 

“Try it and see what happens.”

Fandral bowed low, crossing his arm over his chest. “My princess--”

Sif kicked him in the chest, sending him flying across the dais on his behind. Volstagg roared with laughter, Fandral and Thor joining in while Hogun laughed quietly. He always did have too much dignity for their group of friends.

“That wasn’t very queen-like,” Volstagg said, slapping her on the back again. “You should curtsy and giggle and make eyes at him.”

“Don’t let Frigga hear you say that, or she might put a spell on you,” Sif said.

“It has been quite a while since the Allmother cursed one of us,” Fandral said, getting to his feet and rubbing his behind. “By the Norns, Sif, you’ve quite the kick. Say, where’s Loki?”

Her heart lurched, and she didn’t respond.

“Pouting in his room, perhaps?” Hogun said. He and Loki never had gotten along, though neither would say why. “Though he should have expected Thor to be crown prince.”

Loki probably was in his room hurting, though Hogun was incorrect as to why. “My brother is probably off setting up a prank of such magnitude we shall be speaking about it when I crown my own child,” Thor said. “He will catch up with us later. To the feast, my friends!”

Sif managed to smile her way through the meal, accepting congratulations and well-wishes and far too many innuendoes. She knew what was expected of her after such an announcement, and the thought was making her sick. She loved Thor, dearly loved Thor, but could not stomach the thought of intimacy. It was a betrayal to Loki; though she knew a physical union was inevitable between her and Thor, it was too soon.

The whole of Gladsheim hooted and hollered as she and Thor left the feast together arm in arm. Sif forced her smile to remain, but the instant they reached the empty hallway, her smile dropped. It was all she could do not to weep.

“That was quite the send off,” Thor boomed. “Imagine what it will be like at our wedding?”

She was trying desperately not to.

Dropping her arm, Thor reached up and stretched his back, a loud crack reverberating in the hall. “What say we call it a night?” he said.

Relief and confusion warred within her as she said, “What?”

Looking at her out of the side of his eye, Thor said, “You are a good friend friend, Sif, but I must talk myself into wanting to be with you, as I imagine you must talk yourself into being with me. Just this morning you dropped a pickled herring down my shirt, and before the ceremony, I was planning on the best way to gain access to your rooms so I could leave a rotted fish head on your pillow. I’m adaptable, but I don’t adapt that fast.”

“Thor, I genuinely love you,” Sif said, giving him her first real smile of the evening. “I propose waiting until the wedding night.”

Clasping her forearm, Thor beamed as he said, “Agreed.”

Filled with affection for Thor, they parted ways and Sif headed toward her rooms. He deserved a woman who would appreciate his consideration and his genuine good nature. He deserved someone far better than her, a warrior who wanted nothing more than to be in the arms of his brother.

Sif pulled up short, realizing instinct had been directing her to Loki’s rooms. Overwhelmed with melancholy, she turned and forced herself to her chambers. She could not face him now. It would be an insult to all three of them.

Safely ensconced behind her own closed door, Sif sank to the floor and finally allowed the tears to flow.

 

*

 

Loki was ill prepared to face the people of Asgard. Everywhere he went, their eyes trailed after him, rumors shared in quiet whispers, but not quiet enough.

“Have you seen the hollow look in his eyes?”

“Is he so jealous of his brother he cannot support Thor’s claim to the throne?

“Trust the younger son to be upset about Thor’s inevitable rise to power.”

Loki supposed he should be grateful his mood was misconstrued as displeasure over Thor’s crowning, for it meant he and Sif had been discreet enough to avoid notice, yet it only raised the question: had Sif known? Had she asked to keep their relationship quiet because she knew it could not last? Bitterness shrouded Loki, and he could not talk himself into giving Sif the benefit of the doubt, preferring the downward thought spiral that insinuated her a cruel mistress.

If he ever spoke to her again, she would be extremely displeased with him. He found he did not care. He no longer owed her anything, as she had effectively severed their ties and found solace in the arms of Thor.

That was unfair; if Sif and Thor did any solacing, he was sure she paid for it afterward in tears.

Tearing through the castle, Loki’s shroud of bitterness morphed into a shroud of anger. He needed a vent for his emotions. Usually he would pursue the training yards and spar with his brother, Sif, or one of the Warriors Three, but as he did not want to see Sif for any reason, that ruled out his usual haunt. Perhaps his mother could be of help.

Storming through the palace, Loki arrived at Frigga’s door and let himself in without a knock. His mother was sitting at her desk, the picture of elegance from head to toe as she penned something on heavy parchment. “You took your sweet time arriving,” she said.

He was not surprised she had anticipated him. “Send me on a quest.”

“Send yourself on a quest.”

Loki threw himself into his mother’s settee, letting his head dangle backward. “I haven’t the presence of mind to come up with something to do, so I need you to order something for me.”

Frigga set her pen down and moved to sit beside Loki, taking his hand between her soft ones and holding it tight. “What ails you, my son?”

Rolling his head in her direction, Loki gave her a flat look. “Surely you’ve heard the rumors.”

“Yes, but what is rumored and what is true are not always aligned.”

Rolling his head back to stare at the ceiling, Loki repeated his query. “Send me on a quest. Please.”

A cool hand slipped across his forehead, measuring his temperature. “I did not know what your father had planned,” Frigga said quietly as she smoothed the worried lines of his brow. “Your father is often a wise man, but he does not always seek counsel when he ought.”

“Mother.”

“I did not ask what ails you because I did not know, but to see if you would trust me with your heart. I know it is a delicate thing, Loki, and delicate things can shatter beyond repair if we are not careful with them.” 

His mother was entirely too insightful, Loki thought ruefully. No one else in the palace may have suspected him and Sif, but it did not surprise him that his mother knew anyway. “Are you an oracle or a seer? Or is this some gift that comes with being a mother?”

“It comes with being observant. You are not in the limelight as often as Thor, so many do not bother to notice you, which is their loss. You shine as brilliantly as your brother, though he with the light of the sun and you with the light of the moon. Too many remember only that the sun brings life and light, and forget that the moon provides the only light in the dark.”

She made his pathetic existence sound so beautiful. A solitary tear rolled down Loki’s cheek, splashing onto the settee. “I am injured, Mother, and I do not know if there is a cure.”

“Time heals everything, my son.”

“Time takes too long.”

Nestling her head on his shoulder, Frigga said quietly, “I know.”

 

*

 

It had been two weeks since Sif’s surprise engagement, and she had yet to see Loki. He was nowhere to be found, and though everyone had just seen him, none could pinpoint his location. She was aching to speak with him. She did not know what to say, but knew it needed to be said; she could not wed Thor with Loki hanging over her head.

After another fruitless search, in frustration Sif made her way to the training yards. Pulling on her leathers, she spotted Fandral in the corner and made her way to him. “A duel, Lady Sif?” Fandral cried upon spotting her. “Why yes, that is precisely what I had in mind. En garde!”

He leapt at her before she was ready, their duel beginning in earnest. No one else paid them any mind, having long since become used to Thor and his friends going after each other. Where once their sparring brought spectators aplenty, now they were so commonplace the soldiers hardly noticed them anymore. It was a comforting sort of anonymity. Sif threw herself into the sword play, determined to exhaust her muscles until she could not stand. Fandral was an excellent partner, meeting her blow for blow. They were roughly equal in skill and strength, allowing the duel to stretch. Were she battling Thor, things would be over quickly. He either overpowered her with his superior strength, or she took him down with quick footwork and clever tactics.

Were she battling Loki, she’d lose as she stood there and offered her apology with stillness, taking any blow he bequeathed upon her.

With renewed strength, she clubbed Fandral on the side of the head and he dropped like a sack of potatoes. He moaned from the ground, grabbing his head. “That was a fierce blow,” he said. “I think I might need to lie here a bit. Come join me, my lady, and tell me of your troubles.”

Dropping beside Fandral, Sif sprawled out beside him, mingling her sweat with the dirt.

“You are troubled,” Fandral said.

“I am.”

He went silent, waiting for her words. Sif stared into the sky, debating the merits of sharing her secrets with Fandral. He was a rake, but unendingly loyal to his friends, and of the Warriors Three, liked Loki best. If anyone would sympathize with her plight, it was Fandral, and she desperately needed someone with whom to share her burdens. “I was not expecting the Allfather’s announcement.”

“None of us were, I daresay, Thor least of all.”

“Loki least of all,” she corrected, and Fandral tilted his head to look at her.

“Loki?”

“Loki.”

“Well. This is a surprise.”

“It should not have been. The Allfather has been generous in allowing me to befriend his sons and in encouraging me to learn the sword. I should have expected him to want something in return, and what better price to exact than my hand in marriage?”

“I meant you and Loki were a surprise, but we’ll get back to that. You honestly think Odin Allfather only allowed you to be a shieldmaiden to betroth you to his son?”

“No,” she said. “That is unfair to him.”

“But you are angry and Odin Allfather makes an easy target.”

Sif looked at Fandral. “You are a surprising well of insight. Perhaps I should have sought out your advice before.”

Fandral thumped himself on the chest. “I am an underappreciated fount of wisdom.” Sif smiled, one of the few to grace her lips since Odin’s pronouncement. “Now tell me more about you and Loki, because that is a tasty bit of gossip I wish to know more about.”

Sif whacked him lightly. “It is not gossip,” she said sternly. “We are two hearts, struggling desperately to understand and find meaning.” She paused. “I am, anyway. I have not spoken to Loki; I do not know his mind.”

“Yes, that little goat has been scarce about the palace lately. Thor has been on a hunt to find his brother, but keeps coming up empty-handed.”

“I as well.”

“Two peas in a pod, you and your newly beloved. So. You and Loki. When did this happen?”

“I have long wanted his attentions--”

“Is that why you and he spend so much time together?”

“It was, though lately it has been… more. We used our expected companionship to find dark corners to steal a kiss--” Fandral interrupted with a suggestive hoot, so Sif hit him again. “Do not be excited. I am now betrothed to his brother and he has not spoken to me since it happened.”

Fandral went quiet, the clattering of practice swords the only sound breaking the silence. Once again Sif stared at the sky. It was a deep blue, reminding her of Loki’s eyes. It should remind her of Thor’s, as they were also blue, but she had not spent time getting lost in his eyes as she had Loki’s.

Sif gritted her teeth against the weight of emotion suddenly crushing her chest, fighting back the equally sudden tears. Her fists clenched and her body went taut. Reaching over, Fandral covered her fist with his hand, squeezing gently. “I am sorry I did not know and have left you to navigate this emotional sea alone. Does Thor know?”

“No,” Sif whispered, “and I cannot bear to tell him.”

“Perhaps someone ought to so he does not think his brother and his intended hate him.”

“He knows I do not hate him.”

“Loki, then. I doubt he’s made any steps towards assuring Thor.”

“I would not know. I cannot find him to talk about it.”

Sitting up, Fandral hauled Sif up with him. “Then let’s find the elusive prince! Asgard is only so big, and unless he’s hidden himself in a shadow realm, we must find him eventually.”

With a smile, Sif followed Fandral into the palace. She was amazed at how good it felt to share her burdens with another. She should have sought out company from the start, or perhaps not kept her relationship with Loki a secret. Suffering alone did her no good.

Now hopefully she could find Loki and alleviate some of her pain, and hopefully some of his as well.

 

*

 

After half an hour of searching, Hogun found them. Falling into step, he said, “You know you both smell?”

“‘Tis the stench of hard work!” Fandral cried, throwing his arms wide. “It’s a delightful musk that reminds the ladies I am an excellent provider. And since Sif now belongs with Thor, she no longer needs to gussy up to impress a man.” Sif elbowed him in the side, but he only grinned at her.

“You should hit the baths,” Hogun said, wrinkling his nose to emphasize his point, “but I see you are not headed that way.”

“We seek Loki,” Sif said.

“That elusive rat must be around here somewhere,” Fandral said, “and we mean to smoke him out if it is the last act of our magnificent lives.”

“Are you planning to beat some sense into his head?” Hogun asked. “I tire of his moping.”

“Sif gets the first swing,” Fandral said. That was incorrect; if there was to be any violence, Loki would take the only swing, though Sif might be hard pressed to stand still as his blows rained down on her. She never had been good at taking a beating.

Around the next corner, Volstagg met up with them. “Friends!” he boomed. “Are we questing?”

“Yes,” Fandral said. “Our quest is to locate the quicksilver prince and tie him up before he can escape.”

Volstagg nodded. “I, too, search for him, on behalf of Thor.”

“Excellent!” Fandral cried. “A hunt! The first to find him gets half the glory, and the one to truss him up like a stuck pig gets the other half. Meet in the feasting hall every hour until one of us is victorious.”

“Loki would be so offended to know he’s been relegated to the status of wild animal,” Sif said as she and Fandral headed off together.

“Then perhaps he ought to be present like a prince and not missing like spooked prey,” Fandral replied. “Now do be quiet, my lady, lest our prey hears us coming and hides in the shadows.”

Quietly they prowled the hallways, ducking behind bits of furniture to avoid the curious eyes of the servants. Twice Sif and Fandral slipped into empty rooms to avoid Einherjar patrols, valiantly attempting, and failing, to suppress their giggles. Stalking Loki felt suspiciously like playing hide and seek, bringing a measure of joy Sif had not expected to feel. Fandral truly was a good friend.

Once they crossed paths with Frigga, who looked on with amusement but said nothing to Fandral’s straight-faced declaration that they were hunting rabbits. They nearly ran into Thor, but at the last moment Fandral pushed Sif into the wall and hid her within his cloak, appearing as if he were dallying with one of the court ladies, a sight so common Thor did not even notice them. Sif laughed quietly as she poked Fandral’s chest. “You are naughty,” she whispered. “Think what the servants might say!”

“If the servants think you would look at me twice with romantic intentions, they deserve to have their heads examined,” Fandral whispered back. She could not argue with that.

They met up with Hogun and Volstagg in the feasting hall thrice, always coming up empty-handed. Sif felt a measure of disappointment at each failure, but it was quickly overshadowed by the joy of the hunt.

On their fourth meeting, Volstagg was missing and Hogun looked entirely too smug. “We have captured him,” he informed them as they approached. Sif’s heartbeat quickened with an onslaught of anxiety at the thought of seeing Loki, though she breathed through it and reminded herself to remain calm. “Volstagg holds him, awaiting yours and Thor’s presence.”

“How are you keeping him still?” Sif asked, following Hogun as he led her and Fandral to Loki.

“We speared him to the floor.”

Sif came to a full and complete stop. “I did not just hear that.”

“Wise,” Fandral said, nodding sagely. “If he’s pinned to the floor, he cannot magically teleport his way out.”

“You can’t insert a spear into a prince of the Realm,” Sif said, aghast.

“Why not?” Hogun asked. “Loki and Thor have stuck many a pointed object in each other.”

“An excellent point,” Fandral said.

“They’re brothers; we’re vassals,” Sif said.

“You are the next queen,” Hogun reminded her. “If Loki complains, we’ll say it was your fault.”

As expected, Loki looked quite provoked. His brow was drawn into a thundercloud that would make the god of thunder jealous, his eyes flashing with lightning bolts Sif worried he could make real. A narrow javelin pierced the soft part of his arm, effectively pinning him to the floor. He sat in a pool of his own blood.

This was going to be an excellent conversation. Sorry, love, that I’m to wed your brother, and that our mutual friends thought shedding your blood would make for a good apology.

By the Norns.

“Did you find Thor?” Volstagg rumbled, and Hogun shook his head.

“Before we find him,” Fandral said, “Sif needs a word with the prince.” Loki resolutely did not look at her, staring instead at the wall opposite his head as if it held the secrets of the universe.

Volstagg nodded. “Sif always was best at getting through to Loki,” he said, and once again Sif blessed the obliviousness of her friends.

Putting her hand on the javelin’s shaft, Sif tugged until it dislodged from the floor, carefully removing it from Loki’s person. As soon as the act was completed, Loki wrapped his arm around her and teleported the pair of them to his rooms.

“Oh, because that’s not going to be suspicious,” she snapped.

“I’m not speaking to you where anyone can hear,” he said, dropping her as soon as they were solid.

“You aren’t speaking to me at all.”

“Are these not words I deign to utter?”

“Only because our friends literally pinned you down. Do not lie to me, Loki; were it up to you, you would have avoided me indefinitely.”

He left her side, striding across the room to procure a glass of something strong. “Of course I would. There is no point in our discussing anything.”

Crossing her arms, Sif glared at his back. “You would have me wed your brother with our love hanging over our heads?”

Loki shrugged, looking perfectly at ease. “I’d not have you wed my brother at all, but as you haven’t put up the slightest argument, I can only presume you find the whole affair satisfactory.”

“Stars above, Loki. Do not make this more difficult than it must be.”

He hurled the his glass at the fire where it shattered, the alcohol intensifying the flames. “More difficult?” he seethed, turning to face her, his face a picture of malice. “I had you in my hands, Sif, precisely where I wanted you, and with one word from the Allfather, he snatched you away, and you went without protest. Not one word, not one apology directed my way. You’ve already made this more difficult,” he spat.

“And how was I to share apologies with you? I have been looking for you for weeks, but you hide from us all, licking your wounds and wallowing in self pity.”

“Am I to come begging the bride of Thor for a morsel of her goodness?”

“You could speak to the woman you love about the mutual hardship we face, and decide together how best to handle it.”

“And what good would that do, Sif? I know you. You’re Odin’s well trained dog. He says come, and you go running.”

It was hard to remember that Loki’s harsh words were born out of pain, that he was using them to weave a defense about himself, but he was not the only one suffering. Sif wished she had a javelin of her own to insert in his person, perhaps through his side this time. “I am sworn to protect Asgard and uphold the Allfather’s word,” Sif reminded him, “so yes, when he says come, I obey, as I know how to hold to an oath.”

“But not to any promise you made me.”

“His word supersedes yours.”

“Which is why this conversation is pointless. I’ve already held it with myself a dozen times. Now you’ve said your piece, so you may scurry on your way and find some new and delightsome way to please my brother.”

His sneer served to infuriate Sif, so she marched over and clocked him on the jaw. Despite having ample opportunity to defend himself, Loki let her land the blow, his eyes unflinching even as his jaw flew to the side. It only made Sif feel worse. “I did not ask for this,” she reminded him, heat making her words sharper than intended. He said nothing.

They glared at each other, breathing heavy with anger and hurt. As the moment dragged on, Sif felt her anger replaced with an awareness of their proximity. Three weeks past, she knew precisely where this would lead them; sorrow returned as she realized how futile such thoughts were.

Simultaneously they turned from each other, breaking the connection. She felt hollow on the inside.

“Answer me this,” Loki said softly.

“Anything,” she whispered.

“Did you know?”

She turned back to him, to catch his brilliant eyes, feeling the depth of anguish hiding behind his thin facade of anger. “No.”

His eyes held hers, a quiet, unnamed something passing between them. For a moment, their hearts beat in sync, their breaths aligned, their desires entwined. Longing coursed through her veins.

As one, they turned away, breaking the moment. “You should go,” Loki said, moving away from her.

She should, but every fiber of her being cried out to remain. Closing her eyes, Sif took a fortifying breath. It did not matter what she wanted, for she had a duty to perform.

I love you, she thought one last time, and walked away.

 

**

 

Weeks passed. Loki stopped hiding in dark corners but did not engage with the Three as he used to. Fandral missed the man’s silver tongue, as he was always ready with a quip or insult. Fandral also missed seeing Sif and Loki together, for they had made a great team decades before they became something more, and with them never within reach of the other, Fandral felt like his world was being reordered.

For whatever reason Hogun and Loki had never been on the other’s good side, so Hogun seemed happier without Loki around--at least as happy as Hogun ever looked, meaning there were fewer raised brows and more head nods that might indicate happiness, might indicate he almost fell asleep and was jerking himself awake. Volstagg only noticed Loki’s absence when Thor commented on it. He was a fearsome warrior, but not very observant, especially if there was food around to distract him, and in Asgard, there was always food.

Odin was pushing for the wedding to happen sooner rather than later, meaning Thor and Sif were constantly being dragged around for wedding plans. They handled it well and were always laughing when they were together, but it was the laughter of close comrades, not lovers. Sif might be willing to go through with this farce of a wedding, but Fandral was not confident in its odds of success.

To his knowledge, Thor had yet to be informed about Loki and Sif, which Fandral supposed was their prerogative, but he was never one to let others’ choices stop him from doing something stupid.

It took some maneuvering (a mini feast to distract Volstagg, a quiet corner to distract Hogun, a martial challenge to distract Sif, and nothing to distract Loki because who even knew where he was), but Fandral managed to get Thor alone in the gardens away from prying eyes and ears. Thor was looking regal with his hair carefully combed and his red cape draped just so. He was probably on his way to or coming from some wedding event, an absolute travesty, in Fandral’s opinion. No warrior should be subjected to so much event planning; he was positive the bride and groom would agree with him.

(Idly he wondered how Loki and Sif would handle wedding plans, and concluded that as the prissy one, Loki would take over the affairs with full approval from Sif, so long as she got to make something bleed. Their wedding feast would be one for the ages.)

“This is intimate,” Thor said, clapping Fandral on the back. “What is so important that you’ve put forth so much effort to get me alone?”

He forgot, sometimes, that Thor wasn’t as thick as they all joked he was. Then again, he was completely blind when it came to his brother and Sif, so maybe there was truth to their jests. Then again, Fandral hadn’t noticed, either, so maybe he was thicker than he thought. “Have you spoken to Loki?”

“Yes, several times. He offered sincere and heartfelt congratulations on my elevation, which I find highly suspicious.”

And it was back to Thor being brighter than expected. That boded well. “He is a wily one, that brother of yours,” Fandral said, leading Thor deeper into the gardens. “He keeps many secrets, wouldn’t you say?”

Thor laughed heartily. “He does, at that, but Loki without secrets would be dismal, indeed. I doubt I’d recognize him.”

“He might smile once in a while.”

“Now that is unfair. Loki smiles!”

“At Sif, or when he’s tricked you into cuddling a snake.”

“Perhaps,” Thor said, “but those smiles are genuine.”

“Mm, yes. Odd that he only smiles at Sif.”

“Not at all. Sif and my brother have been friends their whole lives; of course they smile at one another.”

“I, too, am friends with Loki,” Fandral said, casually clasping his hands behind his back, “but he does not smile at me the way he does at our fair Sif.”

Thor looked at Fandral in amusement. “That’s because Sif is a fair sight prettier than you.”

“Yes, she is,” Fandral said pointedly.

Thor shook his head. “You are trying to tell me something, but I do not follow the thread of your thought. Speak plainly, or we shall be in these gardens all day as I try to interpret your hints.”

Loki would have picked up on Fandral’s meaning immediately. Fandral sighed; he did miss that trickster. “Thor, I am about to tell you something both Sif and Loki would string me up by my guts for, but it’s something you ought to know and they’re clearly never going to tell you, leaving it to me, most beloved of friends, to do their dirty work for them.”

Their stroll came to a halt as Thor frowned. “If they do not desire it known, perhaps you ought to keep your peace,” he said.

“Not a chance,” Fandral said. “I make it a point to do something stupid every day--keeps me young, you know--and I haven’t hit my quota for the day.”

Thor’s frown deepened. “And who is going to be hurt by this declaration of yours?”

Fandral tapped his chin speculatively. “Two options. Either no one, or just about everyone. It all depends on how you react.” Slapping Thor on the back, Fandral cheerfully added, “So choose wisely, because many a person’s happiness hinges upon your response.” Nothing for it, then; he might as well dive in headfirst. It was a good thing he’d said his final goodbyes to the ladies, for this could well be his last conversation. Even if Thor reacted well, Sif might take off his head, or Loki banish him to oblivion.

So many exciting options.

“Thor, my friend, my prince, your brother and your lady have been at odds since Odin declared you and Sif betrothed because they’re a bit mad about each other, and Sif being forced into marrying you has put quite the damper on their little romance. I haven’t spoken to Loki myself since anytime I get close he threatens to impale me in retribution, so I wisely keep my distance, but Sif assures me he’s licking his wounds like a proper injured pup while slowly resenting you for getting the only thing he’s ever wanted. And please don’t tell Sif I referred to her as a thing; I rather like my body parts where they are.”

Thor’s jaw worked with unspoken words. He made several attempts at starting, but couldn’t quite seem to get the words out. Fandral nodded. “I felt much the same when Sif confessed their burgeoning love,” he said sympathetically.

Thor managed an uttered “huh” before a lengthy silence followed as he worked through whatever it was his brain needed to work through. Fandral waited patiently, knowing how big of a surprise it was.

At last, Thor said, “Why would Loki need to impale you?”

Fandral waved it off. “Something about the javelin we inserted into him, but that's neither here nor there.”

Considering Thor had done much worse to his brother, they did not dwell on the topic.

“So you’re telling me my brother... _loves_...Sif?”

“Unless you wish you accuse Lady Sif of being a liar, a duty I would never wish to risk, then yes.”

“It’s simply not possible. I’ve never seen them not fight.”

“Neither have I, but I have it on good authority your brother is quite talented with his, well, everything.”

Thor slapped his hands over his ears. “Do not say such things!” he cried, horrified. “I do not wish to picture my brother--no, I cannot finish that sentence. Quick, distract my brain and recite your lineage!”

Fandral shook his head. “It’s too late for that, my friend,” he said sagely. “The thought of Loki and Sif is now forever seared into your brain, and at last I have someone to commiserate with.”

“I just--no. I can’t--no. And Sif--she couldn’t--when did--how--is there--my brother? _Sif_? It isn’t feasible--there isn’t-- _how_ \--”

Thor went on for several minutes, starting sentences he couldn’t quite finish and generally looking baffled. It was a good look on the usually confident prince; Fandral lamented he hadn’t found some way to immortalize this moment.

At last Thor seemed to comprehend the information, for he finished his inane ranting with a breathed, “ _It makes so much sense._ ”

“My thoughts precisely!” Fandral cried. “I never would have predicted it, but once Sif brought me into her confidence, I cannot imagine her without Loki. You see now why your wedding is ill-fated, and why your brother works so hard to offer platitudes while hiding in his gilded tower? We must do something, Thor. It’s a travesty for Sif to wed you when neither she nor you are invested in your romance and her soul cries out for your brother.”

A contemplative look entered Thor’s eye as he assessed Fandral. “You are quite the romantic for one who cannot commit to a woman,” he commented.

Fandral shrugged. “What can I say? I’m hopeless for a good romance. I just don’t wish to confine myself to only one when I could be the star of so many.”

“I must ponder on this, Fandral. I cannot defy Father, but there must be some compromise to see all parties happy.”

Hope lifted Fandral’s heart. “So you are not determined to see yourself wed?”

Thor shook his head. “I care deeply for Sif, but marriage to her is something I’ve resigned myself to, not something I’ve embraced. She is wonderful, but we are too similar, and I would not be surprised if our mutual fire provoked fights to bring down the walls of Gladsheim.”

To be fair, Sif and Loki might also have fights of that magnitude, and Loki actually possessed the power to destroy the palace, but Thor had a point. If two fearsome warriors took the thrones of Asgard, the Realm might be plunged into an era of war it could never recover from. Both Sif and Thor would do better with someone to temper their bloodlust.

They clasped forearms and parted ways, Fandral whistling as he left. When the history of Loki and Sif was penned, he fully expected an entire footnote devoted to his role in their union. They were lucky to have a friend like him, and he hoped they knew it.

 

*

 

Sif and Loki.

Loki and Sif.

Something must be done. Thor could feel it in his bones, but he lacked the imagination to decide what. That was Loki’s area of expertise, but this time Thor could not turn to his brother for aid.

It seemed so obvious in hindsight, though before Fandral shared the reality with Thor, he would have mocked any who dared suggest the Trickster and the Shieldmaiden would form a union. How could he have missed it? The two were always together, and though Thor had never seen them touch, it did not stretch the imagination to picture it occurring. And yet even the palace gossips had never suspected. Were they so good at hiding their feelings? Thor was hurt they hadn’t entrusted him with their secret. He felt foolish for parading his brother’s woman around to wedding events, but how could he have known?

Perhaps if their relationship had been public, Father never would have betrothed Sif to Thor. Unfortunately, he couldn’t be sure of that; if a union between Thor and Sif best suited the Allfather’s plans, Thor was certain it would happen, regardless of Loki’s feelings.

Over the course of the following week, Thor mulled over his newfound understanding of Loki and Sif. He thought of it as he dressed, ate, sparred, sat in meetings, argued with Sif over flower arrangements neither of them cared about, and stalked the halls. There had to be some way to give everyone what they wanted, but any solution that resulted in Loki’s and Sif’s happiness left the Allfather hanging dry, and if there was one person who needed to be placated, it was Odin. Any plan that left Odin happy spelled disaster for Thor, Sif, and Loki.

Thor wished he could consult his brother.

Nine days into pondering the issue, it occurred to Thor that he did not have to have all the answers, and there was a never ending source of wisdom he was failing to utilize. Stealing a bit of fruit off the breakfast table, he bit into it as he made his way to his mother’s rooms, the juice dribbling down his beard. With manners like these, it was a miracle Sif looked at him with anything other than revulsion after the refined grace of his brother.

Knocking at Frigga’s door, Thor waited for the quiet “come in” before he stepped inside. His mother stood at one of her plants, carefully pruning its leaves. “Mother,” Thor greeted, walking over to kiss Frigga’s cheek, “I have a conundrum and am in need of advice.”

“If you’re asking after an appropriate wedding gift for Sif, you’re better off asking her,” Frigga said, never taking her eyes from her plant. “She can be such a picky child.”

“Mother, are you aware that Sif has an affinity for Loki?”

Frigga turned to him, surprise in her eyes. “I’m impressed you noticed,” she said mildly. “I love you dearly, my son, but observant you are not.”

“Fandral informed me.” She made a quiet noise, but otherwise did not comment. Thor sighed. “I cannot marry her now, Mother, but Father will never call off the wedding for something as silly as the bride being in love with someone else.”

“Your father is a wise man,” Frigga said, “but in this he is blinded by his desire to provide stability for your rule.”

There had to be something they could do. Thor could not bear if if his brother did speak to him for the remainder of his life. “Tell me you have some idea,” he pleaded.

“A half-formed thought, one I dared not entertain without your assent, my son.”

“You have it, Mother; whatever you need.”

“Fandral knows, you say? Good. We will need his assistance, as well as that of Volstagg and Hogun…”

 

*

 

It was a pleasant autumn day, the sky blue and the sun shining brightly as the leaves shimmered golden in the gentle breeze. The weather almost made up for the fact that Sif’s hand was held tightly by Thor, who was so pleased with himself his grin was bordering on insufferable. 

He wouldn’t tell her where they were going or what they were doing, only that she had to wear something pretty and be prepared for the event of a lifetime. He was in his ceremonial armor, buffed and polished until it gleamed, reflecting sunlight every time he twitched, making it very difficult to look at him. He looked like the blazing sun, rather fitting for his personality.

Sif wore a softly flowing gown of grey silk edged with emeralds. It had been Loki’s favorite, meaning she could not wear it after her marriage. She was using this opportunity to put it to rest, to say final goodbyes to a garment she cherished. It was silly, and she never thought she’d be sentimental over a dress, but she was finding herself sentimental about many things of late.

Squaring her shoulders, Sif reminded herself to smile. None of this was Thor’s fault, and he did not deserve to be the recipient of her moods when he was not the cause of them.

She tried pulling her hand away again, but Thor held on tighter. “I cannot let you go lest you wander off and never make it to our destination,” he chided her.

“Yes, because I have a habit of getting lost when I’m alone with my betrothed.”

“This will not become the first time,” he said, pulling her closer and tucking her hand in his arm. She could disentangle herself from him if she really wished it, and he knew it, but it wasn’t worth the effort.  

“This must be some secret if you can’t trust me to show up on my own,” Sif said. “Any hints?”

“Do you like things that sparkle?” he asked.

“Stars. Shimmering pools of water. A well cut stone. The sparkle in my eye when I’m about to best you.”

“Good enough,” Thor said cheerfully, directing her off the road toward a footpath leading to the coast. They picked their way beneath a bluff, the scent of oleander surrounding them. Sif was grateful she’d worn sturdy boots instead of delicate slippers. Pointing ahead, Thor said, “That cave is our destination.”

“Finally,” Sif said. “Is it to be my final resting place? After the march you’ve dragged me on, I’d be content to lie down and die there.”

“Depending on how you react to the surprise, that is one possible outcome, though I don’t recommend it. I do not relish having to explain to my father that my betrothed chose to lie down and die rather than marry me. He might start an inquest only to discover I’m as dull as a training sword.”

Sif laughed. “No one who has been on a hunt with you would call you dull,” she said fondly. “I always receive more injuries hunting with you than I ever do in battle.”

“How was I to know those locals had an affinity for Asgardian flesh?”

“You could have asked. And let us not forget the time you fed me to the beast as bait and were surprised when I tried to lop your head off after.”

Thor brought a hand up to rub at his neck. “Were it not for Volstagg’s timely intervention, Loki might be the crown prince.”

“And let’s not forget when you speared me yourself to convince the locals you were only interested in their wellbeing.”

“You’d threatened to kill half the village, Sif!”

“After you’d actually slaughtered their ruling council.”

“They stuck Loki with a dozen arrows; of course I thought they were aggressive.”

The smile stretching across Sif’s face reminded her that though she would not have chosen Thor herself, at least she knew their marriage would be fun. They could at least pass that onto their children. There were worse fates she could suffer.

It was a short but steep hike to the mouth of the cave, easily accomplished. Sif enjoyed the chance to stretch her muscles. She’d been so tied to the palace lately that she hadn’t had much time to venture out, even for a stroll. It felt wonderful to feel the sun on her face and the wind in her hair.

Halting outside the cave, Thor turned to Sif, his eyes suddenly serious. “Why did you not tell me about Loki?” he asked so softly, so kindly, there was no mistaking his meaning.

Sif inhaled sharply; how had he found out? “Did Loki speak with you?” she asked, voice equally soft.

“You should have,” he reprimanded her, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I am not so monstrous as to be unfeeling to your plight.”

She shrugged, feeling renewed affection for the man in front of her. “There was no purpose in bringing it up. The Allfather has spoken, and I obey his command. To dwell on the past would only serve to hurt all parties.” She placed her hand over his on her shoulder, lightly squeezing. “Why bring this up now, Thor?”

Removing his hand, Thor gestured toward the cave. “It relates to our destination,” he said, stepping aside to let her pass.

Unsure of what awaited her inside, Sif briefly imagined a marauding band of pirates waiting to take her life. It would be a grand ending, fit for an almost-queen, and to go down fighting would guarantee entrance into Valhalla. If only Thor were devious enough to bring about her end in such a glorified manner. With a nod, she passed through the entrance, allowing her eyes a moment to adjust to the dimmer lighting.

There were no pirates waiting to attack, a small disappointment, but the sight before her was enough to take her breath away. The walls and ceiling were sprinkled with floating lights glowing softly in the dark, gently illuminating the myriad flowers carpeting the cave floor. The Warriors Three were all present, wearing their ceremonial armor, as buffed and polished as Thor’s. Frigga stood in the center of the room beneath an ornately gilded arch, resplendent in a gown of midnight blue embroidered with threads of gold. Standing next to her was Loki, hair carefully styled, his own ceremonial garb gleaming in the soft light. Confusion pinched his face, and Sif reminded her speeding heart that they had already said their last goodbyes.

“Thor, what is the meaning of this?” she murmured.

He ignored her, striding forward to greet his mother and brother. “I was beginning to wonder if you changed your mind,” Frigga said after Thor kissed her cheek, her matronly eyes tracing his face.

“I did not give Sif adequate warning to brush her hair and paint her face,” Thor said, “and since I could not tell her the nature of our journey, she would not be hurried.” That was almost true. He’d given her no warning whatsoever, and while Sif did not need to fuss about her appearance, she did not like to look disheveled when there was another option.

“Perhaps next time you will send ahead with a departing time,” Sif said lightly, moving to stand next to Thor. “I find it difficult to meet your exacting demands when you don’t tell me what they are.” It took some effort to stop at nodding toward Loki when she wanted to share an eyeroll with him. He would not appreciate the camaraderie. Addressing the Allmother, Sif said, “What is going on here, my queen?”

“A wedding,” Frigga said, inclining her head toward Sif. Sif hoped her sudden terror didn’t show half as much as Loki’s, who’d gone ramrod straight, his face carefully blank.

Sif wasn’t ready for a wedding. She hadn’t had time to prepare. Her feelings for Loki were still swirling in the back of her mind, taking up entirely too much space. She was working on locking them away, but hadn’t been successful yet. He still infused her every breath, shrouded most of her thoughts. To wed his brother now, with no warning, in his presence--it was an insult. Degrading. It would be ruinous.

And to wed without the Allfather present? Was he on his way, or was Frigga playing a game Sif did not comprehend?

“Look at her face,” Fandral cried. “My queen, I think you’ve done the impossible and discovered the one thing Sif is terrified of.”

“I am not afraid,” Sif lied.

“Even I can tell you are,” Volstagg said. “We should stop being cruel. Someone tell her what is going on.”

“We did,” Thor said, showing far too much excitement for a clandestine wedding. “We’re throwing a wedding!”

“Without Odin?” Sif asked, trying desperately to think of a way out of the situation.

“As he will be decidedly unhappy about our subterfuge, he was not invited,” Thor confided. “He will rage about it for several days, but Mother is in charge of helping him through this. 

There, finally, something she could latch onto. Crossing her arms, Sif said, “I have sworn an oath to obey the Allfather. I cannot in good conscience wed Thor without Odin present.”

“Good,” Thor and Fandral said in harmony, and Thor continued, “because we aren’t being wed. This secret ceremony is for you and Loki!”

For a moment Sif forgot to breathe, turning slowly to face Loki head on. His usual composure was shattered, stark shock painted across his face. Sif felt moderately better knowing he had not been in on this scheme--but Frigga had? Sif did not know what to make of all this. “Loki and I do not need a secret wedding ceremony,” Sif said, anger heating her words. “I am not so disloyal, Thor Odinson, that I would run off with your brother in front of your very nose.”

“Does it count as disloyalty if I’m the one pushing you to do it?” Thor asked thoughtfully.

“I think she should count it a blessing,” Fandral said helpfully. “It’s not every bridegroom who gives his bride her one true desire.”

“I did not realize you were such a gossip,” Sif snapped at Fandral. “This is the last time I take you into my confidence for anything,”

Loki spoke for the first time. “I told you the Bumblers Three were not to be trusted.”

“I should have listened,” Sif said.

“Bumblers Three,” Fandral interjected. “I like it.”

“Heroes Three,” Volstagg offered.

“Gossipers Three?”

“Champions Three.”

“Wedding Planners Three.”

“Idiots Three might be more accurate,” Hogun said. “Look at their faces.”

If Sif’s face looked anything like Loki’s, then it, too, was painted with betrayal, distrust, and a large dose of anger. “Are you aware of how deeply you insult us?” she demanded. “Loki and I have made peace with the situation, and here you meddlers come and interfere where you are not wanted.”

“Peace might be stretching it,” Loki said drily, “but I certainly don’t want incompetent hands meddling in my affairs.”

Sif winced; she would never dare call Frigga incompetent. “Not that we don’t appreciate the intent,” she hurried assure the Allmother, “but with all due respect--”

“Butt out,” Loki finished.

Frigga looked amused rather than upset. “My son makes a good point,” she said. “We acted without consulting the two involved.”

“Do not tell me we dragged all these sparkly bits and fragrant flowers in here for nothing,” Fandral said with cheerful complaint.

“That remains to be seen,” Frigga said. “Loki, Sif, we have acted brashly, though not without good intent. We will now leave you to discuss the matter, and whatever choice you come to, we will abide by your wishes. We will leave you two alone for an hour. I will seal the entrance so you shall not be disturbed. Use your time wisely, and be content with your choice.”

She herded the Warriors Three and Thor out the entrance, her sorcery creating an invisible barrier Sif could not see but which caused the hairs on her arm to stand at attention.

Sif waited a minute before saying anything to ensure her friends were truly gone and not eavesdropping. Loki, too, was staring intently at the entrance. When she made to speak, he shushed her with a raised finger, concentrating on some unseen point. At last he lowered his hand. “They are beyond hearing,” he said. It was the first neutral, if not quite pleasant, thing he’d said to her in weeks. Rather than establishing the tone of their conversation, it only served to ignite a fire in her.

Placing a hand on Loki’s arm, she shoved him away from her. “Before we may begin, you must be on that side of the cave, and I on this side.”

“Why?” Loki demanded, eyes glittering.

“Because if we are any closer than that, I will certainly use our time productively, but not wisely,” she said firmly. Heat replaced the ire in his eyes, and his smile was too self-satisfied as he backed away and sat against the far wall.

Bowing his head toward her, he said, “The lady may speak first.”

Mindless of soiling or wrinkling her dress, Sif sunk to the ground in a puddle. “Our friends care a great deal about us,” she said. “And they are far better at keeping a secret than I would have suspected.”

He snorted softly. “Irritating is what they are.”

“That, too.” She smiled wearily. “They have good hearts.”

“Interfering hearts. What guarantee can they offer that their ill-advised scheme will even hold? Odin has all power.”

“I think that with your mother on our side, should we go along with said ill-advised scheme, Odin will not break our union.”

“You speak as if you’ve already decided.”

“I have not, but I know what I would choose if it were only my wants I should consider.”

“Enlighten me.”

Sif sighed. This was not a conversation she wanted to hold, as indecision clouded her heart. “As invincible as Odin and Frigga seem, they cannot live forever, and eventually the mantle and burden of the kingship must pass on. Thor will make a good king, but Asgard needs a strong queen as well.”

Loki raised one eyebrow. “And you think you are that strong queen?”

“Be honest, Loki. If not me, then who?”

He did not respond.

“All of Thor’s conquests are tavern wenches and bar maids,” she reminded Loki. “The closest he’s come to a suitable relationship was with that innkeeper on Cygnus Prime, and that lasted exactly as long as our mission there. He loves everyone but is in love with no one. Left to his own devices, can we really trust Thor to find a suitable queen? Your father didn’t think so, and as much as it pains me to admit, Odin might be right.” Sif knew she would wear the mantle of queen well, though it was not a job she desired. If she could think of another suited for it, who would serve Asgard well, she’d pass the mantle along without a second thought, and run to Loki’s waiting arms. But she could not.

Again, Loki said nothing, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling. Sif tore her eyes away from the exposed column of his throat. Thinking about kissing him wasn’t going to help if she was still half convinced she needed to marry Thor.

“What if I find someone for him to marry?” Loki asked abruptly.

“What?”

“You’re hesitant because you think Thor needs a bride, and you know of none more suited to the task than yourself. What if I find someone else who is?”

Sif shook her head, refusing to hope. “I think you’re grasping at straws,” she said. “Name one suitable candidate.”

“Perhaps it’s time we got new blood in the realm,” Loki said, “Find Thor a wife from elsewhere. The universe is a large place; there will be someone out there who qualifies.”

“You are determined,” Sif said with a tiny smile.

Loki returned the look. “My options at the moment are I marry you and remain in my home, or we agree this is pointless and I move to some far distant realm, only to return when Mother or Thor comes banging on my door claiming my presence is imperative. Of course I am determined; I have a lot riding on this decision.”

“You make it sound so romantic,” Sif said drily.

“You are offering to marry my brother for strictly political reasons. Also not romantic.”

“But noble.”

“I have little patience for nobility.” She didn’t, either, but that didn’t make it unnecessary.

Picking up a blossom, Sif tenderly stroked the petals, enjoying the softness. Flowers were so fleeting, but brought so much joy. Much like her relationship with Loki, she mused, and wished she could run away with him. “Where would you look?” she asked quietly.

“Everywhere,” Loki said promptly. “There is no corner of the universe I would not thoroughly search if my success meant I could stay with you.”

If he only knew what it did to her insides to hear him speak like that. Doing her best to hold her voice steady, Sif asked, “Do you really think Thor would marry someone of your choosing?”

“Why not? He agreed to marry you, and you were never of his choosing.”

“But he likes me. It’s a better foundation than _my brother who used to attack me with snakes thinks this one is suitable_.”

Loki looked at her, desperation making his face wan in the dim cavern light. “You could help me find her.”

Searching for a suitable queen while traveling from realm to realm? They could make it their honeymoon, combining Loki’s taste for the elegant and refined with Sif’s desire to hunt prey. What a bizarre couple they were. “I don’t know,” she said softly, though her heart longed to accept.

There was a lengthy silence this time before Loki spoke again. “Do you even want me?” Loki asked, anguish coloring his voice. “Because you seem bound and determined to wed my brother, regardless of what alternate solutions I come up with.”

His words hit deep, twisting the sharp blade of agony in her heart. How to make him understand that he was all she wanted? His flowery words, his quicksilver tongue, his lies he rarely directed her way? His passion, his magic, his ambition. His twisted words, his cutting wit, his acidic assertions. His hands. His lips. His heart. Her voice broke when she whispered, “Of course I want you.”

He was at her side in an instant, long arms enveloping her while she clung to him, inhaling deeply. Somehow he managed to smell like biting sarcasm and ensorceled words. It was her favorite scent in all the Nine Realms.

She could have him. She just needed the courage to defy Odin.

Brushing her hair aside, Loki planted a kiss on the nape of her neck; Sif shivered while melting into his arms. It would stroke his ego to let him know he affected her so, but Sif was powerless to resist as he slowly trailed kisses across her neck and up her jaw. If he asked now, she wouldn’t be able to say no.

Loki stopped just short of her mouth, leaving her quivering with want. “I see what you mean about productivity without wisdom,” he murmured in her ear, then drew back.

“You are cruel,” she said, cupping his jaw and pulling him in for a searing kiss.

“Says the woman refusing my advances,” he panted between kisses.

“Not--refusing--now.”

Loki drew back with a laugh. “No, fair Sif, you are not.” His smile was dazzling; she wanted to get lost in his eyes. Had they been discussing something important? She couldn’t seem to care. “Is this all it takes to win an argument with you?” he asked, voice heavy with amusement. “If my suit is not accepted, I’ll pass that tidbit onto my brother.”

“Wouldn’t work for him,” Sif said. “If he wants to win an argument with me, he’s better off stabbing me.”

“You violent side is so endearing.”

“But only when it’s directed at your brother?”

“You battle only for causes you deem worthy, so an attack by your hand is an honor.”

Sif laughed, burying her head in his shoulder. Bizarre, indeed. “I love you,” she said, words muffled by the fabric of his cape.

“Then marry me.”

What was there to lose? If she wedded Thor, she’d never see Loki, and when he could be prevailed upon to come home, family dinners would be very awkward. And besides, she didn’t want to marry Thor; she wanted to marry his brother. And with Loki’s offer to quest to find Thor a worthy bride, her last worry held no merit.

That was that, then. “Very well,” she said.

Loki went stiff, taking a moment to process her words. “Really?” he asked, peering at her in disbelief.

“Your hands are very persuasive,” she informed him as his fingers were ghosting along her sides. He stilled them, provoking a hum of disapproval from her.

“You cannot take this back,” he said seriously. “Try it, and I will bring this cave down upon our heads.”

“Your father will be so disappointed.”

“But my mother and brother will be delighted. You just saved them from an eternity of my complaints.”

Sif would never try to extort Frigga, but perhaps she could convince Thor he was now in her debt. She grinned maliciously.

“You know,” Loki said speculatively, “we have a little over a quarter hour before the return of our well-meaning friends and family. Whatever shall we do?”

“Early start on the honeymoon?” Sif suggested coyly.

“I do so appreciate that we are of a mind on this.” He looked so delectable, attempting to look innocent, that Sif surged up to capture his lips, making good use of the short time they had together.

Keeping their impending audience in mind, they kept the heat to a simmering boil. Loki set a ward to warn them of the company’s return, so by the time Frigga, Thor, and the Warriors Three entered the cave, they were erect and presentable. Frigga’s knowing eyes warmed Sif’s face. “We’ll take one wedding, please,” Sif said, only to be engulfed in a bear hug by Thor.

“I always wanted you for a sister,” he told her as he set her back down. “When we were little, I made plans to dress you in Loki’s clothes and pretend to Mother that Loki had always been a girl. I hadn’t quite figured out what to do with Loki.”

“You could have had a snake bite him,” Fandral said. “The irony would have killed him.”

Loki rolled his eyes.

It was a matter of moments to set up the ceremony. Frigga was presiding and officiating, with Thor and the Warriors Three witnessing. Standing across from Loki, Sif took his hands and stared into his eyes as Frigga said words Sif did not hear. An official _I do_ was said by both parties, and their union was sealed with a kiss.

With a clap of her hands, Frigga showered the gathering with sparkling bubbles. Several got caught on Volstagg’s beard, which he proudly claimed as his little fairy friends.

While Sif and Loki received congratulations from their friends, Frigga summoned a bed and host of candles. “The illusions only last for one day, but I trust you will use them well,” she said with a smile. She kissed Loki on the forehead and lightly touched Sif’s cheek. “Be satisfied, my children.”

With a sideways glance at Loki, Sif had no doubt she would be.

 

*

 

It was a beautiful ceremony, Frigga thought as she strolled through the palace corridors. Small, intimate, and in the shadows, the way Loki preferred things. He would not have been pleased with a large audience, though he would have given lip service to appreciating it. One day that boy would learn trying to please others only made him unhappy, though that lesson was some time out from being learned.

She found Odin on his throne, smiling the smile of a husband who didn’t want his wife to know how irritated he really was. Frigga returned the smile, hers genuine, for nothing could dampen the joy of seeing her son wed to a good woman who loved him as much as he loved her.

“I hear you and our sons went on a family outing,” Odin greeted her. She briefly bowed her head. “A family outing I was not invited to.”

“We attended a wedding, husband.”

He leaned forward, squinting his good eye. “A wedding, my love?”

“Your son’s. Loki was wed this afternoon. When he returns, you ought to offer him congratulations.”

Suspicion entered his eye, deepening Frigga’s smile. “I sense there is some mischief afoot. What aren’t you telling me?”

“He wed Sif,” Frigga said simply. Three, two, one…

“He what?” Odin roared, launching into a lengthy rant about respect and obedience and disappointment. Frigga only paid half attention, amused at her husband’s expected reaction. He was a good king, and Sif would have made an excellent queen, but Odin was short-sighted in matters of the heart. Loki would have run away to to pout, letting his resentment grow over the years until something came of it, something that would no doubt spell disaster for the kingdom.

She’d remind her husband of all this in a year or two, when he calmed down from the perceived betrayal of his son.

Frigga let Odin rage for a quarter of an hour before she silenced him with a touch to his lips. “Do hush, my darling, and spend that energy crafting words to welcome our new daughter.” He grumbled something in response; Frigga dropped a kiss on his brow. “When you are ready to hear it, I will explain the wisdom of today’s activities. Now learn to be happy for our son.”

Smiling serenely, Frigga floated away, leaving Odin to ruminate. He might be displeased, but Frigga was deeply content. For the moment, and with her family’s history of attracting trouble it might only be for a moment, all was as it should be.

  
**

End

 


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